


weeping heart-trees;

by wearethewitches



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ashara's baby survived, Bodyguard, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender Roles, Godswood, Magic, Master of Death Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Secret Identity, Sisters, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Eliana has one goal: protect her sisters.or, the AU where the Nedshara baby is alive because of a lost soul trying to find a place in the universe and she's all grown up, with a spear as her backup and a mask called Eli Sand.





	1. Chapter 1

_Don’t remove your mask._

The melee tournament is over and Eliana kneels in front of the King. Robert is a fat, drunken lout but the tournament makes him happy – the violence makes him happy. At his right sits Queen Cersei and her trio of children, amongst them the young ladies, Sansa and Arya, their father, Lord Stark, sits by Robert’s left.

_Don’t remove your mask. Don’t let them know who you are._

The voice whispers in her ear as it always does, but the whispers are frantic and soaked in fear. Eliana continues to kneel, double-ended spear laid across her knee.

“You have won the fight, faced many fucking competitors and have come out with a single scratch – ha!” Robert laughs, gulping down his wine. “Rise and tell your king what your name is, boy! And remove the scarf, so we can see your face! It’s a wonder you can see at all!”

Eliana rises, sliding her spear back onto her back, waiting to feel it catch before letting go. _Don’t remove your mask,_ her uncle practically shouts, his ghost almost tangible beside her as he reaches for her arm, gripping it as tight as a phantasm can.

“My name is Eli Sand, your Majesty,” Eliana calls, bowing slightly, “but I apologise for my religion disallows the removal of my headgear. I humbly seek your forgiveness on the matter.”

“Oh, right,” Robert looks briefly uncomfortable, before he shakes his head, laughing it off. “Well, Sand, who’re your parents? Do you seek legitimisation as your prize?”

Eliana’s lip twitches beneath her scarf and she shakes her head. “I do not seek legitimisation, unless it is required for the role I would ask for, as my prize.”

“Role? Do you want to be a guard in my castle, boy? A _White Cloak,_ even? A knight?” Robert wriggles his eyes. “Both the last two need you to not be a bastard and a White Cloak isn’t something I’d award to just anybody.”

However, Eliana shakes her head, replying confidently. “I would ask to be guard to the children of your Hand, Your Majesty – to protect them from harm and swear oaths of fealty to both you and Lord Stark.”

“You what, now?” Robert blinks, raising an eyebrow before looking to Lord Stark, who has stood up at her words. “Ned, what do you think of all this?”

“Who are you?” he questions in a dark voice. “Why would you offer your services for my children?”

“I think it fitting,” Eliana replies. “I would offer the details as to why, but frankly, I believe the matters best left to sleep. If you would have me, I would swear by the Old Gods and my own that I would keep your daughters safe from harm, defend them with my life and lay it down, should the day come.”

“What matters?” Lord Stark questions, before King Robert cuts him off.

“Enough, Ned. Just accept the new bodyguard – your girls don’t have one yet that isn’t part of your home guard and the boy just proved his mettle. I thought you liked bastards,” Robert finishes with a joking laugh, before holding out his goblet to his cup bearer. “More wine!”

Eliana takes the moment to look at the Stark girls, taking in their mixed expressions. Sansa looks frightened and confused, while Arya looks intrigued, leaning forwards and spying her spear, looking as if she wants to get a hold of it. _I can do something with that,_ Eliana thinks blindly, imagining teaching the girl like she had been taught.

“I have no proof of his loyalty and he has no reputable source to confirm his good intentions,” Lord Stark says, as if ending the conversation.

Eliana smiles.

“I say he is true,” Edric Dayne calls, before ducking under the arena fence to walk over to her, feet squelching in the mud. The crowd rumble and King Robert nearly spits out his wine.

“Dayne! What the fuck are you doing here?”

Edric offers a short bow to the King, silent as he turns back to Eliana, embracing her momentarily.

“It’s good to see you, _Eli_ ,” Edric murmurs, teasing slightly. Eliana hits his arm playfully, her uncle twisting to face the King and his entourage neatly.

“Eli Sand came to Starfall when his mother passed as a boy. I have spent many a year training with him amongst my own house guard and he comes here now, a young man of fifteen, seeking to serve. I vouch for both his capabilities and his trustworthiness.”

“Excellent!” Robert thumps the seat of his chair, obviously pleased. “I approve greatly of this, Dayne.” He twists in his chair, craning his neck to see the Stark girls. “Say hello to your new guardsman, girls.”

Eliana watches as Sansa stands, curtseying briefly with a polite, “Hello, Mister Sand” while her sister jumps to her feet, gripping the barrier in front of her tightly.

“Can I see your spear?”

“Once there is less blood on it, milady,” Eliana replies, to the amusement of the King. Edric traps a hand on her shoulder and she looks to him, happy he had come.

 _Edric has always been a fair man,_ her long dead uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning, murmurs beside her. His ghost is no longer a firm presence at her side, but Eliana can feel the sad happiness that he emits at the sight of his young brother, the Lord of House Dayne.

They depart quickly, after that and during the break between the melee and joust, Eliana finds herself standing in a tent with Lord Stark himself.

Up close, he is intimidating and dour, but Eliana forces herself not to be afraid of him. Her mother had once told stories of his kindness and of his deep love – of his fierce sense of duty and honour. He stands in front of her, tense and mistrusting, which she can hardly blame him for. _But he is not of the South and King Robert accepted my request easily,_ she thinks, _and that will make him nervous._

Southern norms differ from Northern norms greatly – Eliana should know, seeing as she spent eight years of her life there before retreating to the South, to her mother’s family. _You were my liege lord, once, Eddard Stark,_ she thinks, wanting to speak of things but knowing in her heart that no, she should not tell him. _All that would await us would be suffering and confusion._

“Tell me of your life,” Lord Stark demands, gesturing for her to sit down on a stool. Eliana does graciously, thankful for the lack of back, so she wouldn’t have to remove her spear. “Who are your parents?”

“My father was Arthur Dayne, milord,” Eliana speaks her third lie of the day – the first being that her name is Eli and the second, that her religion disallows her headscarf from being removed. _I follow the Old Gods. Headscarves are just common sense when it comes to hiding your identity, especially when you want to seem or even have lived near the deserts and dust-plains for years._

Predictably, her answer makes an expression of horror twist into existence on Lord Stark’s face.

“I do not blame you for what you did,” she is quick to continue. “I was a baby, at the time. My mother kept me hidden and we mourned him, but she knew his duty and so I learnt it too, when I was old enough.”

“You knew his final mission?” Lord Stark questions.

Eliana tilts her head. “Perhaps. My mother was acquainted with the Princess Elia – she was one of her ladies in waiting, when she still lived, unmarried, in Dorne. They remained friends and exchanged letters, in their own childhood code. I know that my father was protecting the Lady Lyanna. Only as an older person, have I begun to have legitimate suspicions as to why Prince Rhaegar’s supposed captive would have a Whitecloak Guard.”

“Enough,” Lord Stark stops her, face haggard. “I have been informed that it is not safe to speak of such things here.”

 _Well played, Eliana,_ Arthur whispers. _You have his attention – but do not go for the kill, here. Convince him your loyalty will not falter._

“I love my father, even in death,” Eliana states. “He was protecting your sister and I would do the same for your children. You yourself _must_ know that when I say I’d give my life for them, I speak truth. My father did.”

“Quiet,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair. “Why not ask Robert for your legitimacy? Why not become Eli Dayne?”

Eliana itches to speak, to say _perhaps, the same reason you do not claim Jon Snow as your own –_ but she does not, only waiting for Lord Stark to continue, as if the questions were rhetorical.

Eventually, he sighs and Eliana watches him as he nods, agreeing to her service – all the while, unaware that she is his daughter from Ashara Dayne. She comes to kneel in front of him, swearing a warriors vow of fealty that he accepts, offering her his hand to pull her to her feet.

“You shall meet my daughters, properly,” he says as she regains her footing. Eliana lets him lead her out of the tent, returning to the gaggle of Royals where the children are sequestered. On his approach, Arya rushes over, letting herself be picked up as he calls Sansa to him.

“Will Eli really be our guard, father?” Arya questions eagerly, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Aye, he will protect you with his life,” Lord Stark nods, looking to Sansa. “Sansa, as you are usually with the Prince’s Hound and Ser Blackett, I would assign Eli primarily to Arya. Would this be an acceptable measure?”

“Arya’s always running off,” Sansa states, glancing back at Prince Joffrey, “and the Prince is dashing and handsome. He would protect me.”

Eliana can’t help the wince at her sister’s words, but doesn’t try containing herself otherwise, knowing barely anything of her face can be seen because of her scarf.

“I don’t always run off,” Arya defends, looking to Eliana, “I don’t!”

“So long as you let me run at your tail, I shall not mind, milady,” Eliana replies. Arya looks even more impressed at her words than she had her spear. “It is my duty to protect you – not mind you as if you were but a babe. I am no nanny, nor a Septa or wet-nurse.”

“I like him,” Arya immediately says to her father, who looks at her in slight amusement, dour expression lifting a little. He looks tender – like he loves his daughter very much. To her own surprise, Eliana feels a sharp ache in her chest, suddenly sick for want to be looked at like that again.

 _I miss Mother,_ she thinks.

“I can see why. I’ll brief him on what you are and aren’t allowed to do, though – perhaps he can convince you to abide by some of those rules, at the very least.”

Arya huffs, before Lord Stark puts her down again. Eliana bows shortly to the young girl, getting a messy curtsey back. Then, she turns to Sansa, doing the same, but adding a caveat.

“If you ever need me, just call my name.”

“But what if you are far?” Sansa frowns.

“I shall hear you,” Eliana promises, thinking of her old hunting dogs in the North, all sold but one, when her mother died – how she could slump in her bed with Ashara and ride alongside them in the night, when their guards went hunting for game. “I have a companion,” she adds, _this is the important part._

Eliana wonders if she’ll be able to do this, looking between Sansa and Lord Stark as their expressions shift.

“I heard along the road that your direwolf companion was lost – I would offer my own hound, beautiful and tame that she is. She will only attack on command from me and none else.”

“What kind of dog is both tame yet an attack dog?” Lord Stark questions, with no disapproval in his voice.

“I do not want a dog that could attack,” Sansa quickly says, looking frightened.

“Dusk _would_ not attack,” Eliana states firmly. “If you truly do not want her as a companion, then she will not be. It is not my place to force her on you – but I would like you to consider it, for she shall be at my heels otherwise and I am to defend the both of you. Arya cannot play all day and neither can you commandeer Prince Joffrey’s attentions.”

“Yes,” Lord Stark agrees. “It is heart-warming to see you taking these duties seriously, Eli.”

“I would not do anything less,” Eliana says.

Lord Stark nods shortly, before looking to Sansa. “You will keep this hound with you and if the Prince complains, he may bring it up with me, personally.”

“But, Father-” Sansa starts, before he cuts her off.

“You will have this dog by your side. It, at least, will probably have more discipline than Joffrey’s dog,” Lord Stark sneers slightly and Eliana’s eyes light up at the remark, knowing that the infamous Hound is Prince Joffrey’s bodyguard.

 _I wonder how long it’s going to be before Kings Landing kills him,_ Arthur then says from beside her, drawing all the mirth from her. _Your father is too good and noble a man, Eliana._

 _Don’t say that,_ she thinks to him, before Arya catches her attention.

“Can I see your spear, now?”

“It’s still covered in blood, wolf-pup,” Eliana replies quietly. “Unless you wish to watch me clean it or see me kill kidnappers and assassins, I will not be removing it from my back.”

“What about your dog?” Arya questions.

“Dusk is a short ways from here.” Eliana looks to Lord Stark. “May I pack and collect my belongings, before accepting true charge of your daughters, sire?”

“You may. If you have a horse waiting, ask a squire to stable it with my men’s horses.”

“Thank-you, sire,” Eliana nods her head respectfully to he and his daughters before departing, unable to keep the grin from breaking out on her face.

Returning to where she tied up her horse and hound on the edge of the camp grounds, Eliana barely glances at Edric when she sees him leaning against the tree that her animals are tied to.

“What is your story?”

“Arthur Dayne is my father,” Eliana replies as she unties Dusk’s chain from her neck, coiling it on Palo’s saddle. Calling her dog to heel, she takes Palo by the reigns, guiding him through the camp, Edric by her side.

“Why not me?” Edric questions.

“Because you would have been twelve when I was born,” Eliana eyes him for a moment. “You really wanted that kind of odd stain on your reputation?”

“Well…no, but I am your uncle, you are family and I love you. You said you were going to Winterfell, not here.”

“Lord Stark is here. His daughters are my charges, now, it’s done.” Eliana finds a desert knight with two squires, recognising his shield to hold the banner of House Ladybright, Dorne. “Ho, ser knight.”

The Ladybright man looks over. “Sand,” he nods.

“I was wondering if I might borrow a squire, for my horse needs stabling with Lord Stark’s party,” Eliana requests.

Graciously, the knight offers his squire Vil, who promises to have Eliana’s belongings moved to appropriate quarters. Once Palo is handed off, Eliana continues her walk with Edric, taking it slow so that they might have longer to talk, even as knights, squires and horses push past to get to the arena for the jousts.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Not unless it becomes necessary. If I am physically revealed or suchlike…” Eliana trails off, wondering if she could ever reveal herself. _Maybe years from now, maybe when I have been in service for so long that Arya has married. Would the Starks welcome me? Would they send me away?_

“Eliana,” Edric murmurs as they approach the wooden stands, stopping them. “I fear for you. I fear they will break your heart and that Kings Landing shall swallow you whole.”

“I will not be broken nor drowned,” Eliana nods at him in goodbye. “It’s too late to do anything now. I wish you farewell, Uncle.”

“And I you, Eli. Serve Lord Stark well,” he says, before swiftly turning away and retreating into the throng of people. Eliana watches him leave and when he is finally out of her sight, she joins the Hound in the stands behind her charges, Dusk at her feet.

 _Good luck, Eliana,_ Arthur whispers, before disappearing.


	2. Chapter 2

When she sleeps, Eliana dreams of castles with staircases that move, paintings that talk and translucent men and women that float through the floors. There are people – children that are adults that are teenagers, who all blur together. She can’t remember their faces or their names, but her heart craves them when she dreams.

The only things clear in the dreams are the Hallows.

Eliana can see them clear as day – sometimes imagine them in her hands with such clarity that she believes they’re actually there, up until the point that someone sees her and asks what she’s doing. Eliana knows the stone and rolls it in her palm. In dreams, it’s attached to a ring that doesn’t belong – but, of course, the first time she _felt_ like she was actually holding the stone, she wished to meet Arthur Dayne.

Her uncle’s ghost has been with her ever since.

The strange stick that shot out pretty sparks made Eliana feel inside herself. Energy, _life-force_. It was because of the stick that she discovered her gifts, warging into Dusk for the first time. The hardest of the Hallows to draw, however, is the cloak that shields her from sight – truly, Eliana has not even managed it.

 _The cloak feels owned, though,_ Eliana thinks to herself. _Like a gift I have given and am trying to take back._ Eliana doesn’t often wish for the cloak, though. Who would she hide from?

Ashara took her to a Godswood for the first time when she was two. Eliana can vividly remember the weeping white face of the tree trunk, feeling the deep, ancient power inside that made her scared and awed.

“I don’t worship the Seven,” Arya grumbles when forced into the Sept of Baelor by the Septa of House Stark. Sansa willingly kneels in front of the mother to pray, but Arya crosses her arms, looking at her feet when Septa Mordane tries to convince her to pray for her brother Bran’s recovery.

“She doesn’t worship the Seven,” Eliana says when the Mordane tries to drag her over, intercepting her hand before it touches the girl. “She follows the Old Gods. If you wish for Lady Arya to have faith, let me take her there.”

“The Lady Stark wishes for her daughters to follow the Faith of the Seven,” Septa Mordane snits, but Eliana is already pulling Arya backwards gently, whistling sharply for Dusk. The hound easily gets into the Sept and Eliana ignores the shocked gasps of the septons and septas. Sansa looks up at the sound of claws on tile, greeting Dusk softly as the hound is ordered to her side.

“Guard,” Eliana orders, before Septa Mordane hisses.

“That animal cannot be inside this holy place!”

“In my absence, that _animal_ is Lady Sansa’s only protector worth her teeth,” Eliana says crossly. “Lord Stark ordered his daughter to accept my hound in times where I am with Arya. Would you rather the future Queen of Westeros had no protector at all?”

“You should stay here and the girl should pray to her mother’s gods!” Mordane says, reply shouted in a whisper.

“No. Arya is my priority and it was _you_ who refused to let Ser Blackett in here.”

“He has denounced the Seven publicly and has been banned from entering any and all Septs in Westeros,” Mordane replies, miffed. “What if he took Arya instead?”

“Arya is my priority – Sansa is Blackett’s,” Eliana says. “We do not take our duties lightly and if that is not convincing enough, know that I have yet to be sanctioned by Queen Cersei to be around Sansa alone. The Queen is hesitant to allow me near Sansa alone, despite my oath.”

Eliana’s words make the Septa fall silent in thought and she takes the chance, turning and taking Arya by the shoulders, leading her out of the Sept. Outside, Blackett paces, antsy.

“Jam the doors open,” Eliana advises, before taking Arya’s hand and beginning the journey to Kings Landing’s Godswood. Throughout the journey, there are many distractions in the streets, but luckily, no-one pays a lot of attention to either of them.

Well, to be fair, it might be because Arya splurged on a scarf and asked Eliana to wrap it around her like Eliana did.

Hiding their identities together is not something Eliana had thought she’d do with her sister. The thought of bonding with her like this – even if Arya doesn’t know Eliana is her sister – makes her feel happy. Eliana gladly wraps Arya up in a scarf, showing her the right technique and pinning the disguise into place with a beautiful jade snake barrette.

“I feel pretty and- and free! Will we get to dress up like this every time we come outside on our own?” Arya questions excitedly, grey eyes brimming with enjoyment. Eliana smiles, able to tell that Arya is grinning widely under her scarf.

“Maybe. It depends – we’d need to get different coloured scarves, to match all your dresses,” Eliana says.

“What about you, Eli?” Arya questions.

“All my clothes are this colour, brown will do for me,” Eliana says. Arya, however, is not convinced and as they spend her savings shopping on the way to the Godswood, Eliana ends up with not only two spare scarves, but three new plain black clasps to hold them up.

Eventually, they do leave the markets. Arya doesn’t hesitate to bound up to the strange Kings Landing heart-tree surrounded by red flowers and coated in vines. She climbs up onto its roots, pressing her hands to the cheeks of the weeping face between the vines, right on the sap.

“Don’t let it touch your sleeves,” Eliana advises, aware from the start that – depending on Arya’s behaviour in the Godswood – she might have had to explain why Arya’s hands were stained red. However, her clothes are a different matter entirely. The colouring would never wash out.

“It’s a very young tree,” Arya says as Eliana gets closer, reaching to put her own hand on the Godswood. Already, from just being in its presence, Eliana feels mildly soothed. When she touches the tree, though, that is when she feels the magic. Arya is right, of course. The tree is very young, especially in comparison to those in the North – but the magic is still ancient, bubbling quietly, more active yet restricted to a smaller space.

“Give it time,” Eliana murmurs. “It’ll grow.”

Arya has to remove her scarf when they get back to the Red Keep. Eliana sees how reluctant she is to take it off and convinces her it’s for the best – how was she supposed to stay undercover in the city if everyone knew her disguise? To Arya, it is partly a game and partly logic. The girl even manages to extract a promise from Eliana to teach her how to tie the scarf until she could get it right on her own.

They journey through the Red Keep, stopping for lunch with the Royal Family, as per requested.

“Here,” Arya whispers, shoving a bread-roll full of steak and melting butter into her hand. Eliana pats her shoulder in silent thanks as the girl turns back to her plate, knowing that despite her sneaky behaviour, the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Meeting eyes with Prince Tommen, who previously was looking between Arya and Joffrey – maybe thinking that if Arya fed her guard, his brother should too – Eliana winks, bringing up a gloved finger to her covered lips.

The young prince’s eyes widen before he beams, twisting back to his food, the privilege of keeping a ‘secret’ obviously exciting him as Eliana munches on her roll discreetly.

“Tell me, young Eli,” Queen Cersei addresses her soon after, however, “What was it like, growing up in Starfall? I hear it boasts a beautiful climate.”

“It does, Your Majesty,” Eliana replies after swallowing her last mouthful, uncertain as to why she’s being spoken to. “The seat of House Dayne is on an island, where the Torrentine meets the sea. The island is humid but green enough – we get storms from the east, often.”

“And growing up there? It must have been awful to lose your mother,” Cersei prods, eating a slice of quail.

“It was,” Eliana replies shortly. “Though, I lived south-east of the Wolfswood, until I was but eight.”

“The Wolfswood?” Sansa and Arya both snap to attention, Sansa – for once – ignoring Prince Joffrey to question her new guard. “You’re Northern?”

“Half,” Eliana smiles behind her scarf.

“Mother or father?” Cersei questions.

“Mother,” she replies, unwittingly meeting the Queen’s eyes. The woman tilts her head, frowning slightly.

“Your father’s eyes, I’d assume? You were raised by House Dayne – a true Sand.”

“My parents were not married, no,” Eliana replies, before her uncle appears by her side, whispering in a low voice.

_Cersei may take this the wrong way, niece. There are other Houses with claims to violet eyes._

“Indeed.” Cersei goes back to ignoring her, after that, but Eliana’s sisters have plenty of questions.

“Did you ever come to Winterfell? Could we have seen you, without your scarf on?”

“I never came to Winterfell,” Eliana regretfully replies. “The closest I ever came was Cerwyn.”

Sansa frowns. “Did you never see Father? Who was your lord?”

“My mother decided that we answered to those of Deepwood Motte. Lord Glover was a friend. My mother died in his home.”

“Do you know any of the Glover’s?” Sansa questions, before Prince Joffrey interrupts Eliana’s answer.

“Enough talking to your sister’s guard. I am supposed to be telling you of my hunt!”

“Of course, my prince,” Sansa immediately turns away, even as Arya rolls her eyes, repeating Sansa’s question.

“I played with Gawen Glover when I was young, I believe, but we were some years apart,” Eliana admits. “I mostly trained with the guardsmen. Mother-” Eliana starts to say _mother insisted_ , but stops herself because why would a woman have to insist their son train with weapons?

Thankfully, Arya fills the silence with more questions, ones that Eliana is glad to answer.

* * *

Her dream that night is of a dragon.

Eliana twists and turns, for her in her dream, she is flying around, trying to get into the middle of its nest, trying to get the golden egg amongst scaled. Why she would befuddles her. The dragon roars and then Eliana is dodging a torrent of fire – swerving out of the way.

 _How am I flying?_ She questions herself suddenly and the dream changes to the unwrapping of a broom, sleek and shining with varnish. A surge of warmth rises within her – fondness, freedom, nostalgia and distant loss permeating her body.

Then, of course, the dream changes again and this time, there is a clarity. Eliana feels her mind leave her body, settling in Dusk, who blinks awake. Eliana settles into her gently, chuffing softly. Dusk is beside the balcony, as instructed, nearest the weakest point in the room – outside the door, another Stark guard takes the graveyard shift, guarding her two sisters who share a bed with Jeyne Poole, the daughter of Lord Stark’s steward.

 _I will not remain long,_ Eliana thinks to herself, padding forth to inspect the Northern trio. In the night, the heat of Kings Landing is muted, but Dusk is used to the climate of Dorne and was born in the North – temperature doesn’t bother her.

Directing Dusk’s body up onto the foot of the bed, far from the three girls’ feet, they sit. Eliana can sense the mind of her hound pressing softly against hers and looking down on Sansa and Arya, she feels protectiveness in the form of Dusk’s canine instinct, strong and hearty. Instead of returning to the balcony entrance, Eliana directs Dusk to lay where she sits. _I will protect you,_ she swears.


	3. Chapter 3

“Chasing cats,” Eliana muses, watching Arya dart into a side-door after the feline. Jogging after her, she comes to match her pace, only to bump into her as she stops sharply, with a gasp. Eliana looks up to see what startled her so, violet eyes blowing wide at the sight of the humongous skull, which could only belong to a dragon.

“It’s so big, Eli,” Arya says in a hush, wandering over, hands reaching up tentatively to touch a tooth. Abruptly, she pulls back, away from it. “It’s _warm._ ”

 _What?_ Eliana thinks, following her over, taking off one of her gloves and pressing a bare hand against the same tooth her sister had touched. The heat enthrals her, even as she remembers the dragon from her dream again. _That dragon’s head was half as big as this one’s._

Arya then does the unsurprising and climbs into it’s mouth. Part of Eliana is appalled, for a moment. Playing in the bones of a dead creature, a dead magical beast…it makes her shiver. But then, she follows her sister inside. Arya giggles slightly, the sound echoing gently in the small cavern of the dragon’s mouth, before a different sort of echo reverberates through the room.

 _People,_ Eliana thinks, flattening her chest against the wall of the dragon’s mouth, careful that her spear doesn’t knock or scrape against bone. Arya copies her immediately and they listen to the conversation.

“ _He’s found one bastard already, he has the book – the rest will come._ ”

“ _And when he knows the truth, what will he do?_ ”

“ _The gods alone know. The fools tried to kill his son. What’s worse: they botched it._ ” Eliana frowns, hearing the creaking of a gate and the click of a lock as the two men continue speaking. “ _The wolf and the lion will be at each other’s throats. We will be at war soon, my friend._ ”

Eliana forces herself not to gasp at the thought of war.

“ _What good is war, now? We’re not ready. If one Hand can die, why not a second?_ ”

“ _This Hand is not the other._ ”

“ _We need time. Khal Drogo will not make his move until his son is born. You know how these savages are._ ” The voice begins to fade out and Arya goes to move, but Eliana puts her hand over Arya’s chest to stop her, trying to hear the last refrains of the conversation.

When there aren’t even whispers, Eliana moves away from the wall, afraid, her heart beating fast. _War_ , she thinks. _Spies, who are not ready for war that they know is coming. A botched assassination – of Bran Stark. My brother. It’s said he cannot walk._

“We’ve got to go tell Father,” Arya insists, “he’s in danger!”

“I agree, but this…” Eliana doesn’t know what to do. She tries to think of what they said, to _understand_. “The wolf and the lion. Did they mean the Houses or the people?”

“What’s the difference?” Arya says, pushing out of her grip. “We’ve got to tell Father!”

“Yes, we will, I promise,” Eliana replies, reaching out to grab her before she can climb out of the dragon’s mouth. “Wait a moment, though, please. What if they’re waiting outside? If they see us leaving, they might know we heard.” Arya hesitates and Eliana pulls her gently back out of sight. “Patience. Why don’t we play a game?”

“What kind of game?” Arya asks, sounding reluctant. Eliana seats them both down in the dragon’s mouth, thinking it strange, unbelievable and ridiculous that they would do such a thing. _Sitting in a dragon’s mouth_ , she scoffs inwardly. _Edric would never believe me – Edric the Older, Grandfather, maybe, but not Uncle Edric._

“One where we figure out what they meant,” Eliana replies. “They were talking about Lord Stark.”

“Yes,” Arya immediately agrees. “He has to be the wolf, if the wolf is a person.”

“Even if he isn’t the person, he is the House, as its Lord,” Eliana says. “The lion must mean the Lannisters.”

“The Lannister’s hurt Bran?” Arya questions, making Eliana frown, before realising that Arya sounds heartbroken.

“We don’t know,” she tries to reassure her. “Maybe. Maybe not. Those men were…they’d talked before. We don’t have the full picture.”

“What about the savages? And do we go now?”

“The Dothraki, from across the Narrow Sea.” Yet another frown twists onto Eliana’s face, frustration leaking into her expression. “They aren’t complete savages. They hold dominion over most of Essos.”

_War._

That word keeps reverberating through her mind. _War_. Is Westeros really on the brink of war? The Khal those men talked of – why would he cross the Narrow Sea? Everyone who learnt of Essos from Maesters knows that the Dothraki would never cross such a vast expanse of water – it’s a question that her mother had asked, when she was young, apparently and all her brothers too. Arthur assured her, it was true.

Eliana wishes he were here, glancing sideways as his ghostly figure appears just inside the teeth of the dragon. Immediately, her uncle speaks to her.

_You must go to Ned Stark. Explain what you heard in as clear words as you can. Tell him that spies talked together of how war is approaching. Tell him that he is on the right track with his books and bastards, but it is putting him and his family in danger._

“Do we go, now?” Arya pesters. “They want to kill Father!”

“We must wait a long time, wolf-pup,” Eliana says distractedly, before looking to her, keeping her attention so as to look serious. “Half an hour, at the least. We do not want either of those men even suspecting we were here. They could be anyone.”

“They couldn’t be women,” Arya argues. “We heard them! They _have_ to be men!”

“A bold statement,” Eliana answers, despite agreeing with her. However, the truth of her situation makes her sister’s words funnier than they should. A small amount of pride burns in her stomach. _I’ve fooled the one who is around me the most, here in this den of vipers._ “Not everyone who seems to be a man or a woman is as such.”

Arya’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“Maybe they’re hiding; perhaps they truly want to be a man or woman, but are born in the wrong body; maybe a lady wishes to be a knight and are fooling those who train them into thinking they are a boy.”

The young girl’s eyebrows knit together, making her seem as if she were concentrating. Her eyes dart about, the Stark grey looking paler than ever, in such dimness, before they focus on Eliana.

“Are you a girl?” she asks, sounding suspicious. Eliana feels her heart thud in her chest, before watching, frozen, as Arya moves forwards, crawling forwards in between her legs to kneel there, hands reaching up to unclasp her headscarf.

“Arya,” Eliana breathes, not sure if she wants her charge to discover her falsehood – but at the same time burning for it, for this child to know the truth. _I will regret this,_ she thinks, Arthur shaking his head in her peripheral vision.

_You will. It will make you lazy and reckless. The girl might not know how to keep a secret._

Arya pauses, the clip removed, the only thing keeping her headscarf around her face Arya’s grip on the dark brown fabric. Then she pulls it away, bringing the rest of the scarf with it. Immediately, her eyes widen.

“You’re a _girl_ ,” Arya whispers, sounding awed. She puts the scarf between them, bunching it up in her hands as she stares. “What’s your name?”

“…Eliana. Eliana Sand.”

“You look Northern,” Arya says quietly, tracking her features, brow furrowing. “You look like Jon. He has purple eyes, too, just like you. Do you know him?”

“By name,” Eliana replies. “Our mothers were friends.”

“You know his mother?”

Eliana winces. _I shouldn’t have said that._ “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

“I won’t,” Arya immediately promises. She shuffles a little, in front of her. “Are you and Jon related? Are you cousins?”

“…this is too strange,” Eliana mutters, slightly shocked. Common sense overrules her wish to tell Arya the truth, now. “I cannot answer you. To my knowledge, Jon and I are not cousins.” A lie. One Arya is hopefully too naïve to recognise. To be the son and daughter of Lyanna and Eddard Stark respectively, would indeed make them cousins.

“Oh.” Arya falls silent for a moment. “Are you a Targaryen?”

The horror that her question brings forth escapes her in a desperate rush. “Do _not_ say such things in Kings Landing, Arya,” Eliana reaches to take her face in her hands, holding her tightly, eyes wild. _The truth cannot be allowed to exist, not even in rumours. Jon Snow…_ “People hear and agree with things that should only remain speculation. Any Targaryen’s that live are surely hated by the King and would be killed, if they were found to live in Westeros. I am of House Dayne and that is the truth of it, Arya Stark – but that can hardly be proven, what with my dead mother. The same could be said of Jon Snow and all others with purple eyes.”

Mayhaps Eliana has said too much to such a young girl, or mayhaps too little – but either way, it makes Arya become fearful, her hands making aborted movements to return her headscarf.

“They’d hurt you for being a girl, too,” Arya whispers, scared.

“They would,” Eliana whispers in return, taking her scarf back and returning it to its rightful place. “Our secret?”

“Our secret,” Arya confirms, before wrapping her arms around Eliana tightly. “I’ll protect you, like you protect me.”

“Thank-you, wolf-pup,” Eliana hugs her back, revelling in the close contact, Arya’s warm body pressed against hers tightly, nose snuffling in her neck. When their embrace ends, Arya twists and sits, leaning back against her, claiming she’s going for a nap. Eliana stays awake, content to guard her sister from those that might wish harm upon her.

When what she guesses is at least two hours has passed, Eliana wakes her up and together, they traverse the stairs back to the surface, heading for the Hand’s Office, where Lord Stark might be found. Luckily for them both, Lord Stark is indeed inside – only, Arya doesn’t bother knocking when they reach the door.

“Father!” she exclaims, rushing over, going around his desk to hug him. Lord Stark jolts slightly, raising his eyebrows at the sight of her.

“What’s this? I’ve got guards out searching for you, you were missing for hours.”

“Milord,” Eliana clears her throat, shutting the door gently. “Arya and I overheard a somewhat disturbing conversation, in the dungeons.”

“The dungeons? What were you doing in the dungeons?” Lord Stark questions, looking to Arya, who stiffens awkwardly, wincing.

“…chasing a cat.”

“…right.” Lord Stark looks to Eliana expectantly and she clears her throat again, nervous.

“Two men, most likely spies of some sort, were talking of you and yours. They were being quite vague, but did refer to you and your predecessor both as the Hand. They talked of fools who failed to kill your son and of a Dothraki Khal, across the Narrow Sea who will not attempt invasion until his son is born.”

“And they said that the wolf and the lion would be at war!” Arya jumps in.

“War?” Lord Stark questions, incredulous.

“And that they were going to kill you!” Arya continues, before Arthur speaks to Eliana, prompting Eliana to hurriedly continue.

_Tell him that his investigations are true._

“Aye, war,” Eliana nods hurriedly, “they said it would be upon us, perhaps quicker than they had planned for. They talked of getting rid of you, like the previous Hand – but they talked of your investigations.”

 _The bastard and the book,_ Arthur supplies, Eliana grateful as she wouldn’t have remembered to, until it was too late.

“They said you had found the bastard and that you possessed the book, that the rest would come. I’m sorry, milord. It’s not much, but it is important, I believed. I made sure that Arya and I could not be discovered, spending the past few hours hidden away.”

At her words, Lord Stark had come to attention, clearly understanding what she – the men – had meant. He shakes his head when she finishes, Arya still clutching to him.

“Good. Keep my daughter safe. Thank-you for telling me.”

A knock comes from the door.


End file.
